


Waiting

by chaya



Category: Elfquest
Genre: Angst, Book 1, F/M, M/M, Recognition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaya/pseuds/chaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Leetah a long time to come around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

He spends most of his days in the caves. Everyone spends _time_ in there – they’d burn up into ash if they didn’t, or at least they feel as much – but he stays in the cold and shaded and damp where he can brood in a relative silence. There are little lizards that crawl up the moss-rock and skitter their way into his line of vision. He’ll be staring off into space when he sees something move just to his right, and before his arm’s outstretched and his hand is open and there’s a little yellow-streaked lizard thing falling to the floor, skewered.  
  
He eats the kills sometimes, but usually he just picks out the bones and snaps them as he thinks.  
  
There is an image in his head of a girl he doesn’t really know. Her bracelets clink together at her wrists, making soft sound when she moves. There are slivers of gold that hang from each earlobe, light-catching. Her shoes are jeweled, thin-soled, rich in colour. Her hair is up. She wears a long skirt that she can’t even run in. She doesn’t carry weapons.  
  
(none of them do, none but)  
  
Her hands work their craft better than any he’s ever seen. More rich colour in her skin, dark and smooth like deep-forest wood and so soft to touch. Her hips move side-to-side, sashay, when she walks. When she gathers her brows to scowl her lips tighten just so.   
  
She puts paint on her mouth and over her eyes, blood’s thick red and leaf’s vibrant green. Her eyes are most beautiful than ever  
  
(‘wh-what do you want-?’ she says, such a look of shock on her features, and you’re already reaching down to grab her by the waist, raiding party be damned)  
  
when she’s frightened.  
  
Cutter is in love.  
  
Visitors used to frequent the far-back of the cave; they’d dwell there, sitting with him a while, usually in silence. Strongbow never even sent, just set took his place on the stone near his chief and shared the quiet. Dewshine brought him some strange soup once – probably something native to these folk – but after that she seemed to avoid him as if the sadness of recognition might spread like a disease to her and her beloved. Scouter was more mature about it, but he did try to talk to Cutter every now and again. A bit of a mistake. Now, the third day, nobody visits Cutter after darkness falls, when it’s finally safe to explore the desert again. Cutter’s alone.  
  
Mostly alone.  
  
Skywise is probably the cleverest of all the tribe, or at the very least he’s acting cleverest right now. Dewshine tried soup. Strongbow gave him silence. Scouter tried to give him conversation. Treestump gave him sympathy. Redlance and Nightshade gave him the tried-and-true friendship from afar as the two of them recover from the journey. All that’s well-intentioned, but… well, Skywise reports.  
  
“She’s still telling everyone she hates you. But whenever Rayek says something in passing about how stupid you are or how girly your hair looks, she gets really stiff and walks away, so she doesn’t actually hate you. Rayek hates you though, but you’re not trying to bed him so that doesn’t matter.”  
  
Skywise brings little bits of things sometimes, but they’re never offerings. He’ll be chewing on some plant-food, or some scrap of rabbit that the wolves got, and he’ll share it with Cutter. Passing apples or meat strips back and forth as they talk by the river… the old forest memories are still strong in Cutter; almost enough that he can close his eyes and pretend that’s where they are right now. All the musty cave-dew is just enough to block out his memory-scent of green growing things.  
  
“Shenshen is really talkative, you know. Younger sisters are the same everywhere I guess. She likes Redlance, I think, and so she’s been telling him about the town and her family and things. Redlance says she was talking about her and Rayek and that whole mess… apparently everyone knows about him courting her nearly since the _sun_ first rose.”  
  
Skywise sits with his legs bent up and open wide, so he’s always touching Cutter knee-to-knee. The chief flinches away from all the others, but somehow the familiar graze of the breeches doesn’t get at his nerves like everything else.   
  
“Our wolves are all shedding. At first Clearbrook was worried they were all gonna be buck hairless before another moon passed, but they’ve just thinned out their pelts – it’s so _hot_ here, I guess they had the sense to change to it a little or something. Nightrunner misses you, I think.”  
  
Six seasons ago it would have been Bearclaw silent and raging while Joyleaf counseled. The two powers of the tribe all alone, but it’s not the same here; Cutter doesn’t feel anger, and Skywise is smart enough not to give advice right now.  
  
Cutter doesn’t even hate Rayek. Not really.  
  
“One-Eye says your ribs are starting to stick out like bare branches. He’s right, you know.”  
  
He dreams sometimes, and that’s how he knows he sleeps now and then. The dreams of her are a lot different than the thoughts of her are, although neither of them are malleable or pleasing to him. When she’s in his mind his heart’s bound in strangleweed. When she’s not in his mind he feels empty, like everything in him is scooped out and gone, hollow. Hollow’s worse.  
  
“Redlance is getting a lot better. Not his side, I mean. His side’s all mended. But that old grandson-of-a-treeshaper, he made a whole vine grow today out of just a _sprout_. You should’ve seen their faces. They don’t really get sending, I don’t think, and so they thought they had the only magic-wielders in the race. Good on Redlance for showing ‘em, you know? Although I guess he wasn’t aiming to. He just wanted a vine.”  
  
It’s the fifth day when Skywise doesn’t speak.  
  
The stargazer sits as he always does - no snack this time - and focuses on the same wall-spot that Cutter’s staring at. That’s all normal, and there’s the knee again, but it’s all just silence. Somewhere outside it must be day, because one of the gardeners is singing her rain-song again. That and some wind. No voice. No chatter. Cutter feels like his ears are beginning to thirst for words. Like he needed another want.  
  
But surely he can get what he wants now?  
  
“Skywise…”  
  
And Skywise looks up just like that, smiling lopsided and head at a tilt. His eyes look wet and red around the edges. Cutter stares and opens his mouth to speak, but before he knows what’s happening Skywise is ducking his head down to hide his face, and Cutter’s ramrod-straight and more awake and startled than he’s been in half a moon.  
  
“Sk... Skywise?” Throws his arms around the shaking shoulders, dragging him roughly into his lap and pressing the other boy’s back to his chest, willing the spasms to disappear. “High Ones. Skywise. What…” His throat feels dry and weak from disuse; voice cracking in strange places like he’s young again. “What happened? What’s wrong?”  
  
The sobs become audible. They echo and bounce against the walls, filling the cave. “…not fair, Cutter, it’s-" Skywise’s voice is strained too, but very differently. Cutter can sense the knot in his friend's throat, twisting all the air from the poor stargazer’s lungs like the last drops of water from a sponge. ** _It’s not fair._ **  
  
** _What’s— Fahr. I don’t understand you._ ** Somewhere far away a body is crying, and another is holding that body and calming it with careful hands. Their eyes are closed, curling up protectively in one another’s minds. ** _I want to. Skywise, please. What’s eating at you like this?_ **  
  
The response is immediate. ** _You! Not… not you. Her. But… well, her. Mostly her. This. This stupid situation, this stupid Sorrow’s End with its rules and heat and zwoots and veg… vege…_ **  
  
** _You’re crying for me._ ** It’s barely even a question. Cutter’s hand stops halfway down Skywise’s side, the heel of his palm pressing the edge of the blue vest to his skin. The flesh there doesn’t feel raw and cracked from the sun anymore; it’s cool on top and warm beneath, smooth, like it should be and used to always be.  
  
** _I’m not._ ** Skywise is sniffling, choking on his breaths, over the worst of it but still trembling like a frightened rabbit. ** _Cried for you ages ago. It’s… me, this time._ ** His ‘voice’ fades out toward the end of the sentence, like he’s ashamed to admit something as selfish as this.  
  
Cutter dips down and presses his lips to the crown of Skywise’s head. Keeps his eyes closed, burying his face in the silverwhite hair. ** _Fahr._ **  
  
** _It’s going to end, Tam._ **  
  
This earns silence.  
  
** _Right now she’s telling you no, and while she says no you’re unhappy and she’s unhappy and I’m unhappy because you’re unhappy and because she’s being a… a… I won’t say it, but you know she’s being one._ ** Skywise hears the near-silent snort and keeps going. ** _And later she’s going to tell you yes, and then you’ll be happy and she’ll be happy and I’ll be happy because you’re happy and she’s stopped being one of those things that you won’t let me call her. But more than that I’ll be really sad because you’ll be… gone._ **  
  
"Gone," Cutter's speaking before he even realises it, "I won't be-"  
  
** _You'll be gone enough! You'll still be my chief and we'll still hunt together and we'll still... still be brothers in all but blood..._ ** A small hiccup emits from Skywise when Cutter slides his hand under the blue vest, starts stroking his back. ** _...but..._ **  
  
The hand's cold and Skywise shivers, distracted from his worries and becoming absorbed by familiar feelings he thought had been burned out of him. The callouses on Cutter's fingertips, his deerskin breeches, the fur vest brushing against his bare shoulder. Skywise flushes over, becomes silent.  
  
Cutter strokes the last of the trembles out of them before bending down over the boy in his lap - pressing his lips to the point of an ear, laying his cheek on the cool brightmetal that keeps that white mane of hair in check. He's becoming similarly absorbed, and when he shuts his eyes and breathes in he can pretend it's forest air in his lungs. Or...  
  
Or they're in the troll caves on the outskirts, alone and resting after a long raid. Skywise is panting because he just outran the guards. Yes. It's six seasons back, Bearclaw won't care if they come back to the Holt late, they've stolen good weapons and have the night for themselves. For whatever they want.  
  
Cutter forms this in his mind, refines it, cradles and nurtures the fantasy as best he can before opening his mind and sending it to Skywise. The stargazer tenses at first but then sits up, eyes closed as well. Pushes his shoulders back, breathes deep, and the two brothers in all but blood balance the idea between them with all the effort they can muster. The rock-floor is cold (and it really is) but Cutter's chest isn't as cold as his hands, so Skywise starts there with a firm wet kiss that makes Cutter sigh at the simple familiarity of it. This is (mostly) real, it's uncomplicated, and it's an old dance that they never tire of.


End file.
